


The Ache of Longing

by Areiton



Series: A Mix of Cockles [12]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Conventions, Established Relationship, Hiatus, Introspective Misha, M/M, Pining, Rome - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 17:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Misha isn't used to pining.He doesn't really like it.And he really wishes Jensen wouldactlike he cared as much as Misha does.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this on two things.  
> 1\. The pictures that just surfaced of Misha picking Jensen up at the airport in Rome (because how ADORABLE is that.)  
> and  
> 2\. I might have accidentally (on purpose) nudged a friend to write RPF. It only seemed fair to also do so.  
> Enjoy!

Impatience is an actual living thing.

If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be standing in this fucking airport.

Longing is, too, and that’s been settled in my bones, a persistent ache for weeks now. It shouldn’t hurt to be away from him. I remember when it didn’t--but it’s been a long time since that was true and I’m not sure I regret the change.

I used to like airports, and some small restless part of me still does. They are a world all their own, a place of infinite possibility and change, borderless and beautiful. It’s the only place a C-list actor can sit next to a captain of industry and a high school drop out in his pajama pants and not raise a single fucking eyebrow.

So I like airports. Like watching the people, like giving in to the wanderlust that doesn't always get indulged in this strange new adult-responsible-you-have-commitments-phase of life.

New. Huh. It's been eight years. At some point this isn't gonna be a new phase. It's just gonna be my life.

I glance at my phone again, ignoring the masses of people milling around me, the chatter of Italian.

He's running through an airport a world away from me, his eyes bright and utterly ridiculous and I can't help but think that if he's gonna be part of my new phase of life, I'm ok with it.

I'm ok with this being my normal when it includes him.

He grins, blinding and earnest as he chatters about ACL and a smile ticks up my lips.

How many times has he wandered on a tangent, humming music and praise into my skin before breaking the song to tell me something fascinating and obscure, his whole body lighting up with it while he talks.

The fans all call Jared puppy, and call him the serious one. Because he's grumpy smiles and dad jokes and sharp almost hostile affection onstage.

But they don't see the Jensen I do. The one that took months to thaw but when he did, god, he was gorgeous--big laugh and shy smiles and these crazy dreams that he hesitated to share, even with me.

Hard candy shell and sweet sugar center--and here he was, smiling at me and ten thousand of our closest friends, that sugar sweet soft wide open for anyone to taste.

"Fucker," I mutter, glaring at the phone.

I don't like sharing. Not this. Not him.

Danneel is different, part of him and important, and he was being careful now, cautious around me where she was concerned, almost protective.

Had been ever since he told me about the twins.

But I adored Dee, and couldn't wait to see his new babies.

Sharing Jensen with his family was easy.

Sharing him with the world? Even when I was so fucking proud of him I wanted to scream it, and push past all the little boundaries he put up for us--even then, I hated sharing him with the world.

He’s pausing, startled by something beautiful, rainbow lights pulling me away from him for a second and I ache.

She text me his flight number and arrival time, and a smilie emoticon.

He text to tell me he’d be in tonight and when was I getting to town.

I wanted to read more into that text than was there. Wanted to read my own longing in the short text, wanted him to miss me as much as I miss him.

It’s really fucking annoying to miss someone this much. Especially when that someone acts like he doesn’t care one way or another when he sees you again.

That isn’t fair. It’s impatience and longing and want making me angry and mean.

Need to work on that.

I glance at the clock on my phone and my heart rate picks up.

He landed.

Nothing changes. He isn’t _here._ But.

Some of the tension and ache eases, because god, he’s here. We’re sharing space again, almost close enough to touch, and every second brings him closer.

I should be in fucking Tuscany, riding a bike through the Italian hills, and I blew it off to be here. Cut it short so that I could stand for over an hour in a busy airport, wound so tight it hurt, waiting for a man who probably doesn’t even miss me.

It’s a strange thing, to be the needy one in a relationship.

Not sure I like it.

But this is the way we work. I chase him. From the very beginning, it’s been me. There. Waiting. Hoping.

Living for the moments he noticed.

And I know he cares. Jensen isn’t the kind to do something like this, get involved with a costar or a friend, or _anyone_ who wasn’t his wife, unless it meant something.

Still doesn’t make it any easier to swallow when he leaves me for Texas, with a grin and his brother at his side, and not a single look back.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I huff a sigh. Dig it out and look at the message.

**J:**  Miss you.

That simple.

That easy.

A smile twists my lips, and the impatience is back, but the ache--the longing--it’s a pleasant burn, a price of this thing between us, but it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t push my anger.

Fucking Jensen Ackles.

“You bastard,” I mutter, laughing, and a little Italian mother gives me a scandalized look, hurrying her kid away from me.

“Damn, Mish. You come with a warning label?”

“Ought to,” I answer his lazy drawl, and it’s just fucking typical, that he noticed me before I saw him.

But then I look at him, and I don’t care.

I don’t care.

I don’t care.

All that matters is he’s _here_ and I’m _here_ and he looks exhausted but happy, giving me the quiet smile that I think of as mine, just the hint of laugh lines around his eyes and the softness of his mouth that I want to lick.

“Do you have any bags?” I ask, my voice Castiel low and hoarse and he gives me a slow shake of his head. I snag the bag from him and lead the way. “Let’s get out of here.”

I’ve had quite enough of fucking airports.

Of course it’s not easy. We’re stopped a couple times, and he smiles but it’s tense, and I’m almost vibrating out of my skin. Until finally--jesus, fucking _finally-_ -we’re out of the airport and sliding into a cab, his bags crammed into the floorboard at our feet and I tell the driver our hotel in really shitty Italian that makes Jensen laugh and he’s close.

God, he’s close, enough that I can feel the heat of his skin, can smell the sweat and stale air of the plane, the funk of travel.

“What the hell are you doin here, Mish?” he murmurs, looking at me.

Finally, he’s looking at me.

“I really hate hiatus,” I blurt out and he smiles at me.

“Yeah?”

I nod and look away because I’m about five seconds from jumping him and the taxi driver doesn’t need that and I’m pretty sure I’ll get fired if I get the fucking lead arrested in a foreign country, and because Jensen might look gorgeous but he’s really stinky right now.

“Wanna tell me what's goin’ on, Mish?” he asks, a coaxing request and I shrug.

He laughs a little, and squeezes my hand on the seat between us and it’s a step in the right direction.

It isn’t enough, but it’s a step.

 

* * *

 

 

It is _amazing_ how long it takes to get a guy checked into a hotel room that’s already his. Daniela has to be dragged out of wherever the fuck she is making sure this insanity is going smoothly and Jared starts calling, blowing up Jensen’s phone until finally he shoves it at me with a pleading look before turning his attention back to Daniela as she leads us through the hotel and talks a mile a minute, giving him a bunch of information he won’t remember.

She scowls at us as she unlocks Jensen’s door. “Behave this year, yes?”

Jensen gives her his best little boy sweet smile and I just grin behind the phone.

“Jensen! Where are you?”

“He’s talking to Daniela, in his hotel room. What do you want?”

“Misha? I didn’t think you were--”

I sigh, cut him off.

Impatience is back, itchy and annoying, and I don’t want Daniela here, or Jared on the phone demanding Jensen’s attention.

I’m a selfish bastard and I want this, a few stolen hours.

“Came back early. I was bored, so I picked up Jensen.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence and not pushing and then, “We’re going to dinner around ten. Y’all want to join us?”

I glance at Jensen. Daniela has vanished, and he’s standing there, surrounded by his bags and toeing off his shoes. He nods in answer to Jared’s invite and I relay it, make sketchy plans that I already want to break, before I hang up.

Jensen has already disappeared, ducked into the bathroom, and I can hear the spray of the shower.

I want to go to him.

I’m not sure I should. Not sure he still wants me.

I hesitate for a long time, nerves and impatience twisting in my gut.

This is why.

Why I hate the distance and why I hate hiatus, why I sometimes think it’s not worth it, continuing this intricate dance.

Because every time we go our separate ways--with that easy smile and never a backwards glance at where I stand, watching him walk away--there is this moment. The one that is awkward and tense and unsure.

I know that Jensen loves me.

But every fucking time, I hesitate.

But there is also this.

“Misha?” he murmurs and I look up at him, pulled from my thoughts to _here_. As he steps close to me, and the space between us dwindles down, shaved away to nothing.

He comes to me still wet, and pink from the heat. Comes to me wrapped in a towel and a smile and bare feet. Comes to me with a little sigh and a question in his eyes. Pushes me into the bed and presses down after me.

“Miss you,” he murmurs and I go still. Tense.

Enough that he lifts his head. Looks at me, a frown licking at his lips. “Misha, you gonna tell me where the fuck your head is?”

The words are harsh but he isn’t.

Jensen never is.

“I hate being away from you,” I say, ducking down and hiding in his chest. Press the words there because I can’t just throw that into the open space between us.

It’s too much.

“I know, baby. I do, too.”

I snort and his hand, soothing on my back digs in just a little. Tilts my head up to meet his stern stare. “You don’t believe me?”

I shrug. I do. But. “It’s easy, for you. To walk away, fly back to your family.” I let the words spill, and I’m not sure why. “I wish it was easier for me.”

He stares at me, and finally mutters, “You idiot.”

Then he rolls, pulls me under him and settles over me with that familiar weight, the press of it so welcome it makes me hiss and arch and then--

He kisses me. Sweet and hard and familiar, a kiss I know like I know Vicki’s, like I know my children's laugh,and his heart is beating under my hand, pressing familiar and welcome against my palm. He tastes like warm water and soap and the whiskey--cheap fucking whiskey--he drank on the plane and I chase the taste from his lips, suck it from his tongue, until there’s only him and us.

He laughs a little when he breaks the kiss, nuzzles into my neck and paints kisses with his tongue and lips until I’m whining.

“It’s not easy, you dumb bastard. Every damn time I leave you, it’s the hardest thing I’ve done. ‘S why I can’t look back at you. I’d never leave, and Dee would get really grumpy.”

I stare at him, searching, and he smiles down, fond and exasperated and familiar, pressing against me, filling up my senses and taking up my space, stealing all the air out of the room.

“God, Misha, I fucking love you. Leaving you…” he pauses, shakes his head. “It’s like an ache in my bones that I can’t shake. It’s just there, a steady reminder that you should be.”

He’s watching me, careful and I give him a smile, flashing quick and dirty and get a handful of his ass. Drag him close for a little dirty roll of my hips and catch his curse with my lips.

“Ok then,” I murmur and he laughs until he groans, and then neither of us say much at all, not with words that mean anything to anyone but us.  

Later we’ll go out, and I’ll let the space between us stretch, watch him with the friends we call family, with the fans who adore him.

But for now, he’s here and I am here, and he murmurs my name like it holds the secrets of the world and I kiss him hard before I lick him open, reveal in the soft sweet sticky while he whines and pulls my hair and curses me.

And I laugh and take it and take him, eat up all the space between us, chasing the longing with an impatience that burns and he fights me until he doesn’t and I take until there’s nothing left, just us, tangled together and limp. Happy and content and drifting into dreams, with my hands in his hair and his taste in my mouth.

The ache is gone.

For now. For both of us.

The ache is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr ](http://areiton.tumblr.com)and babbling about writing on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/NazareaAndrews). Come say hi. :)


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